The Dream
by writeroneday
Summary: Seven men, seven dreams,nightmares.


As usual, they do not belong to me, I make no money from it, my reward is being able to post these stroies and have others comment about it, so please leave a review.

This short story wrote itself while I had writers block on the one I am currently working on.

Thunder rolled and in the distance, heat lightening flashed across the clouded night sky. The storm had been building across the gently sloping hills all day long and as the sun dropped below the western horizon it sent its mixture of hot sticky winds swirling into the night.

The town of Four Corners had long gone to bed. The saloon had closed down. The watch fires had burned to coals and the only creature on the street besides the wind was a large, shaggy brown dog that was making his way home.

Chris Larabee lay sprawled on his back in the rooming-house bed. He had opened the windows and the hot sticky breeze came in one side of the room, swirled around and went out the other window. He moved in his sleep, dragging the sheet down off his chest to lie just above his waistline. His blond hair was damp, small beads of sweat began to form across his forehead and upper lip as dream went to nightmare.

It was the same dream to nightmare. The last four nights it had haunted not only his sleep, but also his waking hours. He had been surly, on edge and ill tempered. Tonight he had tried to drown the dream in whisky, thinking it would ward it off as he had in the past. But not tonight, not this dream-nightmare, it would not be vanquished.

_His wife Sarah stood before him. Her reddish brown hair unbound and lay curled around her heart-shaped face. There was that look on her face, that trusting, loving look that always melted his heart and tamed the beast with-in. He was pounding the last corral post into the ground, tamping it solid into the earth. Three more rails and the corral would be finished. Sweat rolled down his bare upper torso, his muscles rippled in the sunlight._

_Her full lips turned up in a knowing smile, a smile that made his body want her. No other woman had ever done that to him before, not from just a smile. She held out a large cup toward him and he knew what it contained. Cold water, she had just pumped it up from the hand pump, he had installed it in the house last week. He had piped it in from the well. Now Sarah didn't have to go to the well for water anymore._

_He set the tamper against the pole, raised a forearm and wiped the sweat from his face and grinned at her. She had that affect on him, when he was near her he always felt at peace, happy and satisfied. Reaching out he took the cup of water and grazed a kiss across her sweat lips._

"_Buck hasn't showed?" She looked at all the work he had done by himself. Buck Wilmington had promised to be back from town early, it was just before noon and he still hadn't showed._

"_You know Bucklin…he'll show up sooner or later." He let his eyes rove over her body, then back up to her face and their eyes met. "Where's Adam?" He glanced around. Not seeing their son "Sarah…where's Adam?" Fear griped his heart, he smelled smoke, he started to turn around toward the house._

"_Don't you know what I did for you…I did it all for you, so we could be together!"_

_Chris Larabee whipped back around, Sarah was gone and standing in her place was Ella Gains…His hands went to his head as he tried to grasp the unthinkable. This woman had had his wife and child killed, had destroyed his life._

"_I did all of this for you, I have always loved you." She started toward him; hands reaching out to touch his bare chest."_

Chris came bolt upright, the colt in his hand, gasping for breath. His heart was pounding. His breathe ragged, sweat rolled off his body. He drew in one deep breath and made his lungs hold the air, until he though they would burst. He breathed out.

With the back of his gun hand he wiped across his forehead, smearing the sweat away. Blinking, he tried to get the anger, fear, and rage out of his head, and the image of Ella Gains out of his minds eye. He drew a breath in and shook his head, swinging his legs over the side of the bed he stood up. He had a pair of black pants on; bare feet touched the floor as heat lightening lit up the night sky. Reaching with his left hand for the tall bottle on the bedside table, he looked at it in the darkness, knew it was empty...he set it back down with a thud.

Chris walked to the window, feeling the thickness of the breeze. He could just start to smell the rain that was coming, it was still far off and looked like there'd be a lot of heat lightening and wind before it got here, but it was coming in their direction. He looked down at his right hand. It held the bone-handled colt. He was aware of the heft of the gun in his hand, the secure feeling of his palm against the roughness of the handle. It felt good there. He turned and walked over to the bed and put the gun in the holster that was slung across the bedpost. Finding his socks and boots he pulled them on, found his dark shirt and shouldered into it. Hastily buttoning the shirt he tucked the ends into his waistband and grabbing his gun and holster he slung the holster around his narrow hips, set it in place and grabbing his hat headed for the door. He needed to be out, needed to shake the nightmare…

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Ezra Standish jerked awake, his left hand holding the Richards Army colt that was normally tucked up under his left arm. At night it rested under his pillow. He still held the vision of the dream in front of his minds eyes, even though he knew he was now wide-awake.

_He saw the man, pushing back away from the poker table and reaching for the ivory handled colt 44. The black hat covered his features. The gun, clearing leather just a split second before Ezra flicked his right wrist and the derringer pop into his hand. He felt the slight kick of the derringer and saw the red stain start to spread on the man's white shirt. _

_Ezra looked down at his own shirt, a good French Linen and saw a very large red stain spreading around a small, ugly, dark hole. He looked up at the man with no features under the wide brimmed black hat. "My… my…it seems that you have killed me…"_

Ezra looked down at his chest, expecting to see the red stain spreading, but all he saw was the nightshirt he wore. He lowered the colt to his lap and flopped back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. With his right hand he ran his fingers through his auburn colored hair, then scrubbed a palm across his face. He came back into a sitting position and looked around the room. Swing his legs off the bed he came to bare feet and crossed to the vanity, setting the colt beside the washbowl he grabbed the water jug and splashed watered into the bowl. Before he bent to wash his face he looked in the mirror, looking behind him, almost as if he expected the man to be standing there…

A halfhearted chuckle escaped from his throat. He focused in on his own reflection. "Oh how thespian …" He shook his head and put his hands in the water and splashed it across his face. He looked back up at his reflection, eyes focused on nothing behind him. "Come now old chap…you have not haunted me in years…why now?" He reached for the small towel at the corner of the vanity and dried his face. Turning around, he looked around the dark room. Lightning flashed across the windows, illuminating the room for a brief minute.

He received no answer to his question. Reaching back with his right hand Ezra took the colt off the vanity and walked over to the closet, opening it he pulled a pair of trousers out and stepped back to the bed, laying the gun down he pulled the trousers on and pulled the nightshirt off. Finding his boots he pulled them on and going to the closet he pulled out one of his older shirts and pulled it over his head. Tucking his shirttail into his waistband, he also tucked the gun. He suddenly needed to be out of the room, away from the memory. Turning he went out the door.

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Nathan Jackson heard the rumble of thunder and rolled over in bed, briefly waking long enough to know there might be rain coming. He rearranged the pillow, finding a comfortable spot and went back to sleep.

_There was a table before him, and a man lay on it. There was blood all over. Looking down at his hands he saw they were streaked with blood, some dried, some fresh. He looked at the man on the table again, stepping closer to him. _

_"Help me…I've been shot."_

_Nathan took another step closer, seeing the small bullet hole in the middle of the man's chest. "I ain't no Doctor…"_

_"But there's no one else…you have to help…I will die!"_

_Nathan looked around, there was no else, just him, the man, and all the blood. "Look, I ain't no Doctor…but maybe I can help you until someone gets here." He stepped up to the side of the table, bent over slightly to look at the wound._

_Strong hands grabbed his coat and pulled him downward as the man pulled himself up toward Nathan's face._

_Nathan froze, the man so close he could feel his hot breath against his cheek A voice spoke into his ear. "You have to save me Nathan…you have to…" He let go._

_Nathan jerked up, his hands on the side of the table for support and looked down at the man lying before him. he looked at the brown eyes, the youthful face._

_It was as if he were looking in a mirror…_

Nathan gasped and pushed up in bed. He half rolled over, running a hand down the front of his face, down his bare chest. His hand stopped over his heart. He could feel it beating rapidly in his chest. He suddenly remembered to breathe in. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his feet touched the floor as a flash of heat lightning illuminated the windows.

He glanced around the darkened room, trying to shake the dream from his memory. It had been him laying there, him with the bullet… He came to his feet, trying to think of something else… He'd worn pants to bed. Walking over to the door he opened it and stepped out onto the large porch area above the stable. He walked over to the railing and looked out across the night.

There were dark clouds moving across he sky. The wind blew hard against him. He could smell rain. A bolt of lightening moved between cloud and ground, lighting up the dark sky. The memory of his own eyes pleading, looking up at him, came back to his minds eyes. He ran a hand over his face and turning, walked back into his room, he needed to move, to walk away from the dream. He quickly dressed and headed out into the stormy night.

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JD Dunne lay curled up in a tight ball in the bed. Every muscle was tightened to the breaking point. His teeth gnashed together.

_He was trapped in a very small space and he had tried to break out, but he couldn't. He just barely had room to breath. He hated small places. As a small child on the estate where he and his mom worked he had been shoved into a small bin by the owner's son for not getting out of the way fast enough. He had tried not to panic, had tried not to cry but the darkness and the confined space closed even more around him._

_He didn't remember how he got out of the box, but suddenly he was standing in front of a man, he was grown now and he knew he was in a gun figh__t. He saw the man go for his guns and JD went to reach for his brace of .38 Colt Lightenings, his hands came up empty. He looked up from his empty hands to see the smoke come from the guns pointed at him, he felt the shock._

JD's eyes opened and he drew in a deep breath. His body was frozen into the tight ball. He had to force his muscles to unclench, to straighten out, allow him to move. It took a couple minutes but he was able to get straightened out enough to get out of bed. He wore a pair of long johns. His hands were still clenched in tight fists and for one brief terror ridden second he thought they were going to stay that way, but the index finger twitched. He slowly got his hands to open. He walked in socked feet to the window of his room and opened it. The air coming in was slightly cooler then the stuffiness of the air in his room. He saw lightening flash in the night sky. The Thunder rolled a few minutes later, the storm was still a ways off.

He needed to be out, turning he walked over to the foot of the bed and taking the cloths that he he dropped there, he got dressed and left the room.

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_Josiah Sanchez's arms went around the man's body, trapping his arms to his sides. Josiah squeezed, feeling the bones, both ribs and arms break as he drew on his enormous strength. He felt a self satisfaction in hearing the bones break, a smile spread across his bearded face. "You shall not hurt her again father…Never will you lay a hand on her again..." he felt life leave the body._

_Josiah opened his arms and the body fell at his feet. But it wasn't a man, it was a small boy._

Josiah jerked awake. The vision of the dead boy's eyes staring up at him still in his mind's eyes. He swallowed the scream that wanted to tear itself from his lungs. He could still feel the crushed body against his chest. "Lord what have I done?" He got to his bare feet, he wore cotton drawers. He scrubbed hands across his face, and then down across his shoulders and arms, trying to wipe away the feeling of the crushing bones. He walked from the bed to the door, it lead out into the church. Opening the door he saw lightening flash across the windows of the church, a rumble followed not too far behind.

Josiah walked into the middle of the room, glancing at the pulpit. He froze as a bolt of lightening lit up the windows and cast shadows across the room. He stood frozen in place, seeing the ghost of his father standing there behind the pulpit. Josiah blinked and then blinked again, there was no apparition there. Only memory.

Turning he walked back into the bedroom and found his cloths, dressing hastily he threw on his beaded jacket and headed for the door.

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Buck Wilmington lay on his right side, snuggled up next to Darlene, one of the few working girls left in Four Corners. He lay with his right arm draped across her waist. His face was buried in her mass of blond hair. She was his usual Friday night sleep over. Buck rolled, placing his backside against her body. His right hand ran down over his face, he mumbled something.

_"Get down…" He yelled it at the dark clad man standing in the middle of the street. There were bullets flying all around. He tightened his hand around the walnut grips of his Colt SAA and aimed at a figure crouched down behind a barrel. He saw the man lining up to shoot the man standing in the middle of the street._

_He knew the man in the middle of the street was Chris, Chris Larabee. He had seen Chris go from a wandering rogue, looking for nothing more then whiskey, pleasure and fun to falling in love with a woman who had gentled and tamed the wild side of him. Buck had been envious, not that Buck had really wanted to settle down, but that Chris had found the love of his life. And then that life had been burned out of him and he had watched his friend go on a one man rampage. It was the reason he had parted ways with Chris, he had seen him grow into a cold, rage filled man who didn't care if he lived or died. Buck knew Chris was torn up inside but twice Buck had backed his plays because Chris was his friend and in the last gun battle, Chris had gotten shot. Buck decided then and there, once Chris was healed, they were gonna split paths. He had seen Chris just once too often standing in the middle of a gun battle looking for death, like now._

_Buck felt a shift in the dream and he was suddenly lying on his back. He felt closed in, as if he were laying in something. He raised a hand from his chest and reached sideways, his hand touched rough wood. Turning his head sideways he saw pine, he was in a pine box. Buck felt his mouth go dry, felt his stomach turn, he was in a coffin. He suddenly saw a man coming toward him with the lid of the coffin; he was going to put the lid on top…_

Buck jerked awake, a sharp in-drawn breath. He sat up, his socked feet hitting the floor. In one fluid motion he came to his feet and walked across to the window, pulling the drape back he was greeted by a flash of lightening and with-in seconds a roll of deep thunder. He wiped a hand over his face, wiping the sweat away. A shiver ran through his body as the memory of being in the coffin came back to him. It was one of his small fears, being in tight small places…He shook his head and ran a hand through damp hair. Turning back he looked at Darlene who had not woken. Drawing in a ragged breath, Buck decided he needed to be outside. He gathered up his clothing, boots and hat and headed for the door.

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Vin Tanner lay on his back, on the pallet in his wagon. The wind flapped the canvas. He wore no shirt, or boots. In sleep, he raised a hand and wiped it across his stubble jaw. The hand dropped down to the sawed off Winchester at his right side. The hand touched to weapon, flexed and then relaxed.

_He stood in front of the man. He was tall and lean. A large Mexican style hat covered long shaggy hair. He was thin face, almost hawked nosed. It was Eli Joe. _

_Eli Joe, the man that had taken the proud Tanner name away from him. Had made Vin cross that thin line between hunter and hunted. The man that had changed Vin's life, making him look over his shoulder, even more wary of people then he had been. _

_Vin reached out to grab him, he was going to take him to Tuscosa and clear his name._

_As his hand touched clothing, Eli dissipated into smoke. Nothing left but a fading laugh…_

_As the laugh faded Vin was suddenly standing on a high wooden platform. He was strung up like a dog, rough rope bit into his neck. He blinked. There were six men standing in a semi-circle in front of him, only one would look him in the eye. _

_Chris Larabeestood in front of him._

"_You know I ain't afraid to die." He looked into Chris' blue/green eyes._

_Chris nodded._

"_I just didn't want to go out like this…like some mangy dog---."_

_Suddenly Nettie was standing in front of him, there were tears in her eyes. "I'd say you've lived up to the name of Tanner…Your mamma would be proud of you."_

_Vin looked at her, he started to protest, the sound stopped the words. It was a very distinct sound. A lever being tripped, Vin Tanner felt the floor drop out from under him._

Vin woke with an indrawn breath, sitting upright. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes. His free hand went to his throat, still feeling the roughness of the rope that had squeezed down on his neck. His right hand was clenched around the lever action on the Winchester. He drew in another ragged breath, looking around the inside of the wagon. His heart was thudding in his chest. He drew in another deep breath and re-gripped the Winchester, feeling the comfort of the weapon in his hand slowed his breathing, faded the feel of the rope, his heart slowed its race.

A flash of lightening and the roll of thunder made him jump.

"Damn…" He swung his legs over the side of the pallet and stood on the rough wooden floor. He didn't want to let go of the Winchester, but he had to, he couldn't pull his boots on without letting go of the gun. Reluctantly he laid the weapon down. He pulled his boots and shirt on, grabbed the shortened rifle, his hat and gun belt he headed out into the stormy night.

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The storm came into the town of Four Corners with a vengeance. The wind whipped and batted the buildings; the rain came as if it were trying to bore holes into the wood and earth. It was no longer heat lightening that flashed colored streaks across the clouds it was now lightening that was bright white and went from sky to earth in broad flashes with smaller bolts branching out. The thunder that followed was window rattling and earth shaking.

They met almost as one, Chris and Vin, nodding to each other, Josiah and Nathan stepping up as one, looking at each other. Ezra stepped up onto the broad woodened walk, nodding to the others, Buck and JD a half step behind. It was JD who broke the silence.

"Looks like it's gonna be a Hell of a night." He glanced at the others as another bolt of lightening broke across the darkened sky, illuminating the seven men gathered together. The bright flash made them all look as if they were tired. In that flash he noticed that Ezra's normally neat hair was mussed and he wasn't dressed in his normal style, as if he had hurried out of bed. Josiah looked unsettled as did Buck and Nathan. Chris and Vin looked as if they had been up all night, and Vin had put his hand to his throat, rubbing it unconsciously. He looked at each of them as the light faded.

Lightening split the center of the street and the sound was deafening. They all flinched.

Ezra's soft southern accent broke the rainy silence as the thunder rolled away.

"I do not consider Hell as an appropriate utterance on this evening Mr. Dunne, I might construe a more proper verbiage as a nightmare…"


End file.
